


Work Hazards

by scatteringmyashes



Series: Athos/D'Artagnan AU Fest [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Include a cute new coworker, sword fights, and dying from heat exhaustion. Really, who thought it was a good idea to do this again? Oh, that's right, a very drunk Athos. </p><p>In which Athos, Aramis, and Porthos are just three old friends who like to work at the local Renaissance Festival during the summer, d’Artagnan is their cute new coworker, and Constance is a saint. Not literally, but close enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Hazards

“Come, come close child!” Aramis motioned towards the girl in question, who looked both intensely curious and deeply mistrustful of the strange man with a pointy beard. “You seem like a young lady full of potential. Have you ever thought of joining the King’s Musketeers?” Porthos and Athos exchanged a glance as the girl frowned. This part of the show was always hit or miss, but Aramis was the best of the three at getting kids engaged. 

“I thought only boys could be musketeers,” the girl replied. Aramis’ face twitched as he covered up his surprise and annoyance. He then proceeded to explain how the King was fair and just, and would accept anyone with enough talent. Athos held back a sigh. 

Yes, he loved his summer job. He got to dress up in a full leather uniform, complete with a cape and a hat with a large feather, strap on a sword and a pistol, and walk around a recreation of a medieval town challenging fellow actors to duels and sometimes arresting them. It certainly beat teaching in a dusty old classroom with students who didn’t want to be there. 

Then again, he spent all day outside in the dirt while the weather attempted to get even hotter than the previous day, beating down on him and causing him to drink roughly his body weight in water. Meanwhile, there were always those self-obsessed bastards who thought it would be fun to mock the actors at the local Renaissance Festival. Athos’ eight years of fencing came in handy then. 

All in all, it was about a wash. Athos probably would have quit years ago if not for the fact that his two best and only friends did it with him. 

“Did you hear about what happened yesterday?” Porthos whispered, covering the movement with a yawn. Even though the musketeers weren’t a main attraction, they were always popular. And when they were performing they were subject to even more scrutiny than usual. 

“No?” Athos questioned, raising an eyebrow. On the main part of the stage, Aramis was teaching the girl the proper way to hold a sword in preparation for their duel. Of course it would end with him getting whacked by the dull blade, losing to whatever child he was facing at that time. Surprisingly, he had only been hit in a certain area once. Porthos still had the video somewhere. 

Porthos grinned underneath his hat. “New guy was late so he ran through the garrison and got hit by someone waving a sword around. Poor bastard had to go to the hospital.” Athos couldn’t help but wince right as Aramis fell to the ground, clutching his heart dramatically while the little girl brandished her sword above his neck. 

“Alas, I have been beaten!” Aramis shouted, glancing at his two friends to come help him out. Sometimes they took their sweet time, mostly just to see the look on Aramis’ face, but Athos felt pity for him. Well that and a healthy need to get out of the direct heat and attention of the crowd. 

“You’ve bested one of the King’s best!” He called out, striding forward and allowing his stage persona to take over. “Your reward, if you accept, is an honorary position among us musketeers.” 

The show didn’t last much longer, and soon Athos and his companions were free to wander around the fair until their next performance, which wasn’t for a good three hours. Aramis, of course, wanted to go by the royal court so he could flirt with the Queen despite the fact that she was supposed to be playing a married woman. Porthos thought the whole matter was hilarious, especially considering the look of disapproval the musketeers always got from the Queen’s ‘husband,’ so Athos relented this once.

“But I did promise the captain that we’d pass by,” Athos added. “Something about a mission, he said. But between the three of us, he probably is just bored in his office and wants company.” Not that it was surprising. Their Captain, a middle-aged man named Treville, was in charge of sitting around and talking to visitors about what actual musketeers used to do. It was dreadfully repetitive and he made it clear that he could only stand so many questions about the historical accuracy of the movies.

“Well let’s get going then,” Porthos replied, cracking his knuckles. “Can’t leave the good Captain waiting.” It was then that Athos remembered that the fastest way to get to the garrison was past the long line of food booths. Since they were working, they weren’t supposed to eat in front of the guests… except that rule was quite frequently broken, almost as much as the no cell phones rule. 

Athos, however, was not hungry nor did he have the patience to wait in long lines filled with screaming children. “I thought we might go through the market, actually,” he commented, voice his signature drawl. “Seeing as we never find ourselves there and we do have plenty of time.” Porthos saw what Athos was doing and rolled his eyes. He said nothing, though, only muttered under his breath something that Athos was perfectly content not to hear. 

Of course that did not stop Athos from flipping Porthos off, once he was relatively certain no one was watching. Aramis saw, of course, and chuckled. He adjusted his hat and grinned at his friends. “Are we going to leave anytime soon? Or shall I go ahead and leave you two to squabble in the dust?” 

“No, let’s go,” Athos replied, looking at a pair of teenagers who looked like they were itching for trouble. He took off before there could be further argument. The last thing he needed was to be challenged to a duel by kids who had watched far too many fantasy movies. 

The Renaissance Festival market was split into three sections, though the distinction was only clear in the map and had no real affect on planning. Considering the beast of an area grew each year, Athos found it somewhat surprising that the fair hadn’t moved yet. It certainly couldn’t get much farther from his nice city apartment. Still, the market was one of the biggest attractions, though everything was overpriced and could be found online without much hassle. 

But as long as it kept the Festival running then Athos couldn’t really complain. Besides, some of the vendors weren’t too bad. And by that, one wasn’t obnoxious enough for Athos to itch for a drink every time they spoke. 

“Ah, it’s the three musketeers. What brings you boys this way? I never see head or tail of you when the festival starts,” Constance complained, stepping out around a display of scarves to look the three men over. Her husband technically ran the booth, but he was rarely there. Not that Athos really cared; Constance was polite but a firecracker, always willing to tell him or anyone else off. Her husband was not quite so interesting.

“We’re busy men,” Porthos grumbled. “Arresting vagabonds and challenging those who would besmirch our honor. Or something.” He looked around at the booth and nodded to himself. “Grown quite a bit, I see. ‘Ramis, see anything the Queen might like?” Aramis rolled his eyes; even if he had any money on him, it wasn’t like he could walk around with some clothing and just give it to the Queen. 

“Oh you have no idea,” Constance cut in. “We had to hire some extra hands… I think he’s in the back now.” She walked around the counter and pulled open the door that led to the back. “D’Artagnan! Come out here and meet the legendary musketeers.” The three men exchanged glances as Constance brushed at her skirt. “He’s already heard plenty about your little troop.”

Athos wasn’t sure who he expected to come out of the back, but it certainly wasn’t the young man who appeared. D’Artagnan had an easy smile that even Aramis could appreciate, a tan complexion that was rarely seen in this part of the country, and long hair that must have been grown out specifically for the festival. His eyes sparkled and widened as he recognized the emblems on the musketeers’ shoulders.

“You must all be musketeers!” D’Artagnan grinned and stepped forward, offering them all his hand. His grip was firm but not overtly strong. Athos wished he wasn’t wearing thick leather gloves, finding himself wondering if d’Artagnan’s hands were as soft as his complexion. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about what you get up to.”

“Us specifically?” Athos drawled. “I didn’t realize we’d become a legend. Must be the beards.” His deadpan brought a laugh to d’Artagnan’s face and even drew a chuckle out of Porthos. 

“How do you know Constance?” Aramis asked before there could be an awkward lull in conversation. They were treated to a rather lengthy, yet amusing, story about how d’Artagnan had managed to mix up their coffee orders at Starbucks. Upon realizing he had grabbed the wrong drink, he then proceeded to chase after the woman he spotted with his proper order, but managed to slip and run into her. He spilled their drinks everywhere, but mostly on Constance. 

It was a wild tale, complete with vague hand motions and sound effects, and Athos felt his lips twitch. Constance looked at d’Artagnan the same way a sister would look at her younger brother, which was a testament to how infectious d’Artagnan’s company and conversation was. Athos couldn’t help but find himself drawn in, but he shook his head when d’Artagnan asked if he could tag along.

“I’m afraid we have actual work to do; despite what you may hear, we can’t stand around chatting to stall owners all day,” he explained.

“Or flirting with fellow employees,” Porthos muttered. Even though it was directed at Aramis, Athos felt his face heat up. He brushed it off as a side effect of standing around in leather too long and made a mental note to get something non-alcoholic to drink soon. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you, d’Artagnan. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” With that, Athos tipped his hat and walked off. He waited a few stalls down for Aramis and Porthos to join him. Unsurprisingly, the two had lingered and chatted a bit longer. Athos didn’t resent them for being more social. Rather, it helped balance the group out. Besides, it was probably good that Aramis could charm the pants off a pastor. Athos was good at his job, sure, but he had gotten warnings that he looked too dour, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Soon enough, Aramis and Porthos wandered over. “Glad you decided to join me,” Athos told them. The tallest man just rolled his eyes. 

“Your company was missed,” he insisted, though Athos doubted they would have even noticed had he not declared his exit. It was nice to think that they cared that much. Well, perhaps Aramis and Porthos did. D’Artagnan and Constance surely did not. Though, Athos reminded himself, it wasn’t as if their opinions mattered. Certainly not the young new employee with hair that looked like silk and brown eyes that could melt ice.

“Shall we get going then?” Aramis asked. Athos didn’t realized he was being addressed until he saw the looks on his friends’ faces. He nodded and intensified the scowl on his face. The other two, satisfied that all was well, settled into a casual walk as they made their way to the garrison. It wasn’t as if they had anything better to do.

\-------------

That should have been it. No more prolonged exposure, or any interaction whatsoever, with d’Artagnan. None of his casual grins or sparkling eyes. And definitely no spotting him out of the corner of one’s eyes when trying to disarm Porthos in a fencing demonstration. Nope, none of that. 

Athos swore under his breath as Porthos landed a sharp jab to the side, glad more than ever that the swords weren’t sharp. The other musketeer let out his deep laugh and stepped back, brandishing his rapier with a bit too much finesse. Athos knew that Aramis had taught Porthos that move. “That makes it two to two, my friend. The next bout decides the winner.”

“You can forfeit now and save yourself the embarrassment,” Athos replied, fixing his stance and adjusting his grip on his sword. The two bowed and waited for Aramis’ go ahead to start the duel again. Athos forced himself to pointedly not look at his fellow employee standing in the crowd, looking far too invested in the fight than he really should be.

Porthos was, by any measurement, much larger than Athos and had the strength of most linebackers. But Athos had taken fencing lessons for years as a teenager and those skills didn’t disappear overnight; they were rather evenly matched, though that didn’t stop Athos from doing his damndest to beat Porthos in every fight. Of course Porthos didn’t go easy on him either, so it was still fair.

This time, Athos pulled out all the stops. He spun after a parry and lunged forward, aiming a blow that would have taken an arm off if the blade was sharp and Porthos not incredibly fast. The crowd let out their customary ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as Porthos fought back, only to get his sword stuck in the fake wood of the garrison wall. Athos just smirked and rested his sword on Porthos’ shoulder.

“Victory to me, Porthos.” The taller musketeer laughed and yanked his sword out of the wall, shaking hands with Athos. The two turned towards the crowd and bowed. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll be having another duel later in the afternoon, between Musketeer Aramis and Musketeer Porthos,” Athos informed them. With that, the three walked off to the shaded area of the garrison, where a water cooler was concealed inside a barrel for the musketeers to drink from. 

The idea was to get some rest in before wandering around some more to put in appearances, but of course that would have been too easy. “That was incredible,” a familiar voice said. Athos turned to see d’Artagnan’s excited smile, chapped lips begging to be licked.

Athos blinked and forced those thoughts out of his head. He was not going down that road, not with someone who was both a co-worker and clearly much younger. 

“Have you taken fencing lessons before?” The young man asked the group, Aramis and Athos both nodded, but Porthos shook his head. “Really? I could never have guessed,” d’Artagnan told Porthos. “I took some classes when I was younger. May I?” 

They weren’t supposed to let anyone hold the dueling blades, which were real steel and only differed from actual combat rapiers in terms of sharpness, but Athos said nothing as Aramis handed d’Artagnan his sword. They were all identical except for the various nicks and blemishes; Aramis had by far the cleanest. No surprise, since he spent most of his free time cleaning the damn thing. 

Athos had to admit that d’Artagnan was not bad with a sword. D’Artagnan swung it with the sense of someone who used to know what he was doing, but was now relying on muscle memory. He was even a bit impressive, right up until he almost stabbed himself in the leg with a particular spin. 

“That’s enough for now,” Athos cut in. “If you end up killing yourself I have to do paperwork. At least wait until I’m not getting paid,” he added. D’Artagnan laughed and rolled his eyes, but handed the sword back.

“Thanks, er… Sorry, I forgot your name.” D’Artagnan had the decency to blush a little, though all it really did was manage to make him even more attractive. Athos ignored that particular train of thought.

“Aramis. This hunk is Porthos and sunshine over there is Athos.” Aramis sheathed his sword and looked d’Artagnan over. “Ever thought of applying for a position with the musketeers? We could always use some more blood and it’d certainly be more interesting than working as a shop boy.” He coughed. “Not that it’s dull anywhere, but…”

“I couldn’t do that to Constance,” d’Artagnan interrupted. “But thank you. Maybe next year.” He glanced around and pulled his sleeve up, revealing a not very period correct wristwatch. “Speaking of which, I need to run. It was nice seeing you. Porthos, Athos.” D’Artagnan nodded to the rest of them before dashing off. 

Athos was confident that he didn’t let out a heavy sigh. Yes, quite confident. And if he did, then it certainly wasn’t heard by his two friends. “He’s rather attractive,” Aramis begun before Athos cut him off with a loud groan. 

“We’ve had this conversation, Aramis--” 

“No more dating.” Porthos did an impression of Athos that was too good not to be practiced in the mirror. “We know, Athos. All Aramis was saying was a simple comment on the general aesthetic appeal of a certain new employee.” Porthos managed to keep his face serious, but his eyes betrayed him. Athos just let out a sigh.

He was not ready for this talk, now or anytime in the future. So he did what he did best: deflect. “It’s high time we pay a visit to the Red Guard. We haven’t seen them in quite some time. Can’t have them forgetting about us.” Athos scowled and adjusted his hat so it sat even further over his face. Porthos rolled his eyes and started ahead. Athos went to follow him but was stopped by Aramis.

“Athos… It’s been five years. Maybe it’s time to explore a bit? At the very least consider it. I think it might do you some good,” Aramis suggested. Athos just let out another sigh and adjusted his jacket. 

“Come on, let’s catch up to Porthos before he decides to fight the entire Red Guard himself. Again.”

\-----------

The Renaissance Festival went on for a rather impressive three weeks with no days off, but fortunately Athos wasn’t expected to work every day. But, of course, on his off days he still had important things to do. So that’s how he found himself browsing through the library on a quiet Monday morning, intent on finding a good selection of books to pour over for the rest of the day. 

“Athos?” He looked up from where he was searching for a book on the Black Plague and raised an eyebrow at the person in front of him. “It’s me, d’Artagnan. Oh, wait.” The stranger held up a hand and pulled his hair out of the ponytail it had been in. Athos blinked and, well, suddenly d’Artagnan was in front of him. In jeans and a T-shirt, he could not have been much different than his festival uniform. 

That and his hair, which Athos had only ever seen down, looked vastly different when it was out of his face. Still, those were d’Artagnan’s bright eyes and his casual smile, teeth gleaming as if he were trying to blind Athos. It certainly was not good motivation to keep his eyes on d’Artagnan’s face and not wander, well, lower. 

Seriously, what was it with people these days and skinny jeans? 

“Today’s your off day too?” Athos asked before mentally kicking himself. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he blurted out in hopes of changing the subject. D’Artagnan laughed and earned himself several shushes from nearby people. 

“I’m picking some books up and I thought I saw you so I followed.” He looked at the book in Athos’ hands and raised an eyebrow. “Cheerful subject. Getting some reading in for the festival or…?” 

Athos chuckled and added the book to his growing stack. “When I’m not protecting the King or swapping stories with my fellow musketeers, I teach history at the local college.” D’Artagnan’s eyes might have bulged out of his head. 

“Really? Union College?” He asked, crossing his arms in an attempt to look casual. Athos nodded. It would be just his luck if-- “I’m going there for graduate school, actually, in the fall. Not for history, but still.” D’Artagnan’s smile returned and Athos resisted the urge to throw a book at the cheerful bastard’s head. He had no right to be so happy all the time. “We might see one another then.” 

“Yes I suppose we might.” Athos picked his stack of books up. If he was proud that he regularly worked out and could lift six hardbacks without effort, well, that was for him alone to know. “What does d’Artagnan do when he isn’t a shopkeeper’s boy?” Athos saw the way d’Artagnan’s eyes swept over him and found that he was thankful that he had taken a shower that day. 

“Study law, actually.” D’Artagnan’s face twitched before settling into his neutral expression. Of course, while Athos’ neutral face was more of a scowl, d’Artagnan’s was a pleasant grin. “I’m planning on being a lawyer.” Athos raised an eyebrow.

“Union College doesn’t have a law program,” he pointed out. D’Artagnan nodded and took it upon himself to follow Athos as the older man went to check his books out. He had a few books tucked under one arm but Athos couldn’t read the spines with the awkward angle.

“But Trinity does and it accepts transfer credits. Plus, ah, Union is over five thousand dollars cheaper a year.” D’Artagnan seemed nervous to see Athos’ reaction but he said nothing. He was a teacher, he understood what it was like to have to count pennies to get by. After all, he hadn’t always been working at the college level. 

D’Artagnan fell silent as the two checked out their books. His hair fell over his face, wavy from its time up in a ponytail. Athos put his age at twenty two, maybe twenty three. He seemed to get along with everyone, and Constance vouched for him which was a fairly reliable seal of approval. And, now that Athos had a chance to properly look, d’Artagnan looked pretty damn nice in modern day clothes. At least, they certainly outlined his body better.

Athos could have lied to himself and said that he had no idea why he was patiently waiting while d’Artagnan struggled with the last book, the machine refusing to check it out. He could have said that he had nothing better to do, which was partially true. He definitely could have claimed that it was some sense of etiquette that all his nights of drinking alone still had yet to remove. 

And Athos definitely wasn’t going to say it was because he wanted to get one last smile out of d’Artagnan before they parted. The young man finished eventually though and turned to face Athos, a confusing expression on his face. 

“Do you want to go get coffee?” D’Artagnan blurted out before covering his mouth and turning an even brighter red than the time at the festival. “Not right now, if you’re busy, but just some time. To talk. About. Stuff.” 

He was so clearly nervous that Athos couldn’t help but chuckle. “As it turns out, I have nothing else planned for the day. Now would work.” He smiled in his own way, the corners of his lips lifting and his eyes growing a little less dark. “If you aren’t too busy.” The smile on d’Artagnan’s face was more than enough to drown out the little voice in Athos’ head that was telling him this was a horrible, horrible idea. 

The coffee shop d’Artagnan led them to was some mom and pop kind of store with the smell of roast coffee floating through the walls and mingling with the sound of a classical guitar playing over the soundsystem. It wouldn’t have been Athos’ first choice, but when d’Artagnan waved at the barista and just handed them his credit card without needing to order it was clear that this was his regular shop.

“Just an early grey tea,” Athos ordered, leaving a nice tip because he was in a good mood. He followed d’Artagnan to a table tucked into a corner, a fake potted plant blocking them from the majority of the other patrons. “Come here often?” Athos managed to ask as if he didn’t think it was mildly adorable that d’Artagnan was a regular at a place where the staff drew doodles of animals on the sides of cups. 

Athos’ cup had a bear in floaties and a snorkle. D’Artagnan’s had a penguin laying out on a lawn chair and sunbathing. “My roommate worked here for a while and got me hooked on the coffee. It’s just as good as Starbucks, half as popular, and just as expensive,” d’Artagnan explained with a crooked grin. Athos nodded and sipped at his tea. “So what gets a teacher to dress up as a musketeer in his free time?” 

“A bet, believe it or not.” Athos thought back to how many beers it had been drunk that night and decided to leave that particular part of the story out. “Aramis and Porthos are also teachers, though they work in different departments. One night we were… discussing which field was the most engaging. I told them that history was naturally superior.” 

“Because swords?” D’Artagnan teased, not realizing how close he was to the truth. Athos thought his exact words had been something along the lines of “fucking swords, Porthos” but he wasn’t sure. His hangover had been bad enough to demonstrate some level of blackout drunkenness, but, between the three of them, they had managed to patch together a decent enough picture of the night.

 

“That too,” Athos conceded. “Regardless, I convinced them to apply to the Renaissance Festival with me and we all ended up getting hired as musketeers. We’ve been doing it ever since.” He sipped at his tea and debated buying some biscuit to dip in, but that would involve getting up and waiting in line and he didn’t feel up for that. “It’s a good way to break up our summers and it gives us plenty of interesting stories.”

D’Artagnan nodded before asking a few more questions, all related to the festival. Athos found that it was surprisingly easy to talk to him; not only was d’Artagnan an engaged listener, he also offered amusing comments of his own and didn’t seem to have any problem passing banter back and forth. For his part, d’Artagnan spoke a bit about his own life. 

Athos learned that d’Artagnan was an only child, that his father had died when he had just graduated high school, and that his mother had moved back to France in order to spend time with her brother. D’Artagnan wanted to study law because of the sense of morality his father gave him.

“And because I’ve always wanted to be a superhero. Well mostly as a kid, but this is the closest I can get.” D’Artagnan laughed, this time not holding back or muffled by the noise of a crowd, and it echoed in the coffee shop and down Athos’ spine. He gripped his tea a little tighter than strictly necessary. “So Professor Athos--” And d’Artagnan just had to open up that door.

“Please, just call me Athos. We’re not in school,” he half-choked out, glad he didn’t have anything to get stuck in his throat. D’Artagnan nodded.

“Ok. Athos, then. Why a teacher? You seem like you should be out there doing something more… more…” D’Artagnan gave him a weak smile. “You know.” Athos did know but it was far too amusing to see the other man squirm. 

“More what?” He asked, sounding far too innocent for the situation. D’Artagnan seemed torn between calling him on it and just trying to end the conversation. Athos let him panic a few more moments before speaking again. “I like to imagine I’m helping future generations or some of that bullshit.” Athos smirked at d’Artagnan’s expression. “What, do I not seem like a good samaritan?” 

“Maybe as a musketeer, but not while it looks like the biggest thing you could storm is the corner store.” D’Artagnan leaned back and stretched his arms up behind his head. A thin strip of skin appeared by his stomach and Athos swallowed whatever witty reply had been on his tongue. “Please don’t tell me you do Civil War reenactments too.”

That begun a heated conversation about historical renditions of actual events, which spun into the accuracy of movies that took place in different time periods. D’Artagnan, to Athos’ mild surprise, was an avid fan of most film and television media. Combined with the sheer amount of knowledge Athos had about medieval Europe and the two had quite a discussion going, though d’Artagnan had a habit of going off on tangents about fantasy stories or something that happened at the Renaissance Festival. 

It wasn’t the most productive, certainly, and usually Athos could come up with a few hundred other things he’d rather be doing, but he found that he wasn’t hating d’Artagnan for taking up his time. In fact, when Athos looked at the clock and realized that an hour had gone by he was surprised; he felt like only ten minutes had passed since he sat down with the other man.

“This was fun, Athos, but I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow?” He sounded so hopeful that Athos didn’t even consider that he and the other two probably had better things to do than talk to coworkers. 

“Of course,” he replied, reduced to watching d’Artagnan leave not thirty minutes after they arrived. He groaned and rested his head on the table. He was going to need something a lot stronger than tea to get through that night. 

\-------------

“Why do we have to stand here again?” Porthos questioned, speaking to the air. Aramis shrugged. Despite the heat and direct sunlight, his uniform looked just as crisp as when they had left the garrison that morning. The other two were not so lucky. Porthos and Athos were both soaked in sweat and Athos was one hundred percent convinced that the metal in his sword was going to be warped in its sheath. 

“This is your fault,” Athos murmured. “You thought it would be a good idea to play poker with that Red Guard while on duty.” Porthos shrugged, squinting at the sun. They had been standing on duty for about two hours and they had another four to go. The King and Queen didn’t really need anyone to protect them, considering no one was trying to kill them, but it looked good and guests loved to take pictures with the guards.

Well, that was the official reason three Musketeers or Red Guards were always on watch during the festival. Athos was convinced that the actual reason was less about appearances and more about needing something to make misbehaving employees do as punishment. It usually worked, but since there was a year between each festival there was more than enough time for the memories to fade. 

“He’s the one who thought I was cheating,” Porthos replied. Athos raised an eyebrow.

“Were you?” He asked. Porthos coughed into his glove and looked away. Athos sighed and wished that there was a clock in sight. Instead, all he could see were the looks the Queen and Aramis kept sharing. The musketeers weren’t supposed to look at the royals but, well, that never stopped them. At least it was amusing, Athos decided. Then again, he didn’t know how much longer he could stand it.

Athos still didn’t see why he had to stand there because of Porthos’ stupidity. In a moment of incredibly boredom, he had decided it was a brilliant idea to play poker with one of the Red Guards. Upon being asked if he was cheating, Porthos drew his sword and challenged the other man to a duel, all in the name of realism of course. Three broken beams, a broken table, and one extremely upset Red Guard later found the three musketeers getting yelled at by Treville. 

Admittedly it might not have gotten so out of hand if Athos and Aramis had just stayed out of it, but that wasn’t their nature. So, well, they had gotten involved. But really, it hadn’t been that big of a problem. The crowd had loved it; something about the authenticity of the fight really spoke to them. 

If Athos was being one hundred percent honest with himself, which he almost never was, he was more than a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see d’Artagnan that day. Even once the musketeers were done with their guard duty, they still had a long day ahead of them full of assignments and demonstrations. Treville was not going easy on them.

They probably deserved it. Didn’t stop any of them from complaining. 

Rather, it wouldn’t when they had the chance. Part of the punishment of guard duty was that they were supposed to remain silent; rarely was this enforced, by Cardinal Richelieu was on duty and was just an unpleasant person to work with. Athos knew some people considered him sour, but Richelieu was a whole other category. 

“There you three are,” someone called out, making their way through the crowd. Aramis looked away from his Queen long enough to raise an eyebrow at Athos, who definitely did not color and let out a sigh as d’Artagnan appeared. 

He was not allowed to look that attractive with his hair down and a leather jerkin over a loose white shirt. Definitely not. “I heard that you were being punished. Something about a poker game?” the young man began, unable to finish because Porthos let out a low chuckle.

“I knew our exploits were famous; I didn’t realize dear Madame Constance was gossiping about us as well.” Athos gave Porthos a withering look and missed the expression that dashed across d’Artagnan’s face. 

“Y-Yeah, she’s always telling me about what goes on. I don’t, uh, know anyone else who works here.” D’Artagnan grinned and crossed his arms, looking Athos up and down and no doubt taking in how miserably sweaty and uncomfortable the older man was. “I thought you were going to come ‘round yesterday. Imagine my disappointment.” It was hard to tell if he was being serious or not. 

Athos hoped not. Then again, he also hoped that d’Artagnan didn’t actually care one way or another. Because that would make things much easier. For some reason that Athos definitely could not put words to. “Some of us have to work at the festival,” he replied instead, tilting his hat to block out the worst of the sun’s glare. 

D’Artagnan smirked. “Is that what you’re doing? I was under the impression that you were being paid to stand around.” Porthos choked back a laugh and earned himself a glare from the Cardinal. The ‘first minister’ of the festival was a stickler for the rules with a stick up his ass that no one seemed able to remove. Athos and the other musketeers had tried. 

“Well, it’s not quite as glorious as running around and talking to attractive older men, but it’s not too bad either,” Aramis spoke up. Athos let out a sharp cough and would have hit him upside the head except then Richelieu decided that they were having too much fun and walked over, his typical scowl on his face. 

“Excuse me, but where are you supposed to be?” Richelieu asked d’Artagnan in a way that made it clear that the answer was not the royal court. The young man in question just blabbered out something about being on his way to, well, Athos wasn’t really sure and neither was Richelieu if the man’s expression was anything to go by. “Stop distracting these men. You are ruining the atmosphere.” Richelieu’s scowl managed to deepen as he spun on his heel and left.

D’Artagnan let out a sigh and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I guess I gotta go. Don’t be a stranger. The market is always open.” With that, he left as quickly as he had appeared. 

Aramis nudged Athos in the side. “He likes you.” Aramis earned himself a narrow-eyed glare for that. “Really, he came specifically to see you. Besides, did you see the way he looked at you? Just ask him out for dinner already and save us your angst.” 

“Excuse me?” Athos glared at Aramis, who just chuckled and shook his head. That chuckle was becoming far too common. “Do you not remember what I did to the last person I was in a relationship with?” 

“Technically you did nothing. She just hit your brother with a car and got sent to jail for ten years for vehicular manslaughter,” Porthos felt the need to add to the conversation. Aramis and Athos both gave him looks that made it entirely clear how much that comment was really not required. By any definition. “Listen, Athos,” Porthos begun, before hesitating. He glanced at Aramis who shrugged. Athos had the feeling that the two had discussed his love life quite often. Or, to be more accurate, the lack of one.

“D’Artagnan is much younger than me,” Athos felt the need to point out. “Besides, we’ve hardly had half a dozen conversations.” 

“And there’s only another week before the festival is over. You have to ask him out sooner or later,” Aramis pointed out in his gentle yet firm voice, making it clear that Athos had no other options. “Get to know him better, share stories.” Aramis grinned. “Maybe teach him a few tricks, if you get-- oof.” Athos cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the side. 

Just in time too, because Richelieu looked at them and made it clear just how deep his disapproval went. Of what, Athos wasn’t entirely sure. It was possible the Cardinal just felt that way about the musketeers in general, which really wouldn’t be a surprise.

“We’re continuing this conversation later,” Aramis promised. Athos rolled his eyes; he was quite confident that it would not be thanks to anything he did.

\----------

“And the way he laughs is just-- ‘Ramis, it’s like liquid sunshine. Or, or, it’s like molten gold.” Athos tipped back the bottle he was holding and frowned as only a few drops trickled down the neck and into his throat. “Where did all my wine go?” He moaned, letting the bottle drop from his grasp and hit the floor. It as a minor miracle it didn’t shatter.

Aramis winced. “Athos, my friend, perhaps it’s best you stop for the night.” He might as well have suggested that Athos cut off his left arm or gone streaking through the local police station, if the look Aramis earned was anything to go by. “Really, though, you should just ask if he would like to go on a date with you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could say no.” Athos hit his head against his table, hands searching the flat surface for more alcohol. Porthos took pity on the poor man and put another bottle of wine in reach, though he had already downed one and two cans of cheap beer. Really, Aramis knew that they should be stopping their friend, but this was Athos’ way of coping with emotions. Not the healthiest by any definition, but at least he was expressing himself. It was this or exploding at an inopportune time, and experience had shown Aramis that drinking was preferable. 

That didn’t make it enjoyable, though, and Aramis did nothing to hide his frown as Athos spilled some wine over himself just opening the bottle. “D’Art…. D’Artagn…. ‘Anagn has a whole life ‘head of him. Why would he settle for me?” Athos probably had more to say on the matter, but he chose instead to take a swig of wine. He grimaced at the taste and Aramis glanced at Porthos, who shrugged. It wasn’t like Athos was particularly picky about what he ingested. 

“You’re thirty three, you aren’t dead,” Aramis reminded his friend. 

“Though you may be if you keep drinking like that,” Porthos muttered, too soft for Athos to hear. Aramis certainly did, and regardless of the accuracy of such a statement it was still a bit much. Porthos held up his hands in mock surrender. “Forget I said anything.” Athos hadn’t noticed and still didn’t. 

“You just need to talk to him and be honest with how you feel.” Aramis brought the conversation back to its original topic. “Without the alcohol, though. Confessions made while drunk tend to be viewed as insincere.” Then again, it was entirely possible that Athos couldn’t summon up the courage to talk to d’Artagnan honestly without a few sips…. which probably was something Aramis should be more concerned about.

Athos groaned and leaned back in his seat, balancing precariously on two legs of the chair and sheer luck. “He isn’t going to want an’thing to do with me,” the professor slurred, taking a swig out of the wine. It trickled down his lips and throat in a red stream, staining his skin and shirt. “Look at me, ‘Ramis. Is this the man who loved Anne?” 

“No.” It was Porthos who replied, voice steady and stern where Aramis found that he didn’t even have words. “I look at you, Athos, and see a man who knows more than the one who fell in love with Anne. He may be a bit sadder, smile less, but he is a better man. And if d’Artagnan is half as good as you see him, then he will accept the Athos that I know.” There was a moment of silence and Aramis wondered if Athos had fallen asleep. It would not be the first time.

But no, the man was just thinking. He let out a heavy sigh and looked at his friends, eyes bloodshot. “Porthos, ‘Ramis… I’m going to ask that attractive bastard on a date.” With that, Athos slumped over and dropped the bottle on the floor. Aramis surged forward to grab it before the rest of the contents could spill over the carpet and Porthos just stood with a sigh. 

They were far too used to putting Athos to bed, getting him as comfortable as possible before going to clean the mess that had been created. When they weren’t there, Athos had to do it himself but both Aramis and Porthos tried to prevent that from happening as much as possible. There were enough stains in the carpet to show that their plans didn’t always work. 

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Porthos asked Aramis as they locked up Athos’ apartment. Aramis nodded. 

“He really likes d’Artagnan and the lad feels the same about our Athos, for whatever reason.” Aramis adopted a small smile on his face. “He doesn’t make it easy to love him, but if anyone could do it I feel that it would be d’Artagnan.” 

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Porthos replied. Aramis’ smile grew. 

“He’ll do it. I know he will.” 

\-------------

Athos woke up with his head pounding and absolutely no memory of what happened the night before. To tie it all together, he had to work in three hours which made his attitude absolutely sunny. The man let out a loud groan as he stumbled out of his room, discarding his ruined shirt and wandering into the kitchen. There were a myriad of messages on his phone but Athos didn’t have the energy to focus on anything except how to get the coffee machine to work.

By some miracle, Athos made it to work with five minutes to spare, pulling his hat on right as he jogged into the garrison. Both Aramis and Porthos were already waiting with matching smiles on their faces. Really, that should have warned Athos, but quite frankly all he had was three cups of coffee and that was not enough to wake him up.

Also his hangover was killing him, but he wasn’t about to admit that in front of the handful of guests that were already wandering around. 

“Hello, Athos. How are you feeling on this fine Monday morning?” Porthos asked, grin growing just enough. The aforementioned musketeer grit his teeth and leaned against the nearest wall. “Don’t suppose you have any plans for today,” Porthos continued, voice so loud he might as well have been bellowing orders over canonfire. Or that might have just been the pounding in Athos’ head, it wasn’t entirely clear.

“Of course he has plans,” Aramis chuckled. “Things to do, no doubt. Speaking of which…” The musketeer tilted his hat as another man came into the garrison. Athos groaned; d’Artagnan’s smile was far too cheerful for any morning, let alone a Monday.

“Oh, Athos. Aramis and Porthos said you had something to tell me?” D’Artagnan shifted and glanced around at the mostly empty square. He paused to look Athos over and raised an eyebrow. “You look like you picked a fight with your hairbrush and lost.” If that was the worst of it, Athos would take it. “Also, you’re still wearing your sunglasses.” 

Athos sighed and took them off, shoving them into a pocket. “What did you have to tell me?” The young man repeated. D’Artagnan looked more and more like a little puppy with every passing day: infuriatingly adorable and excited. Athos was torn between wanting to strangle him and wanting to grab him and kiss him. 

Instead he entirely ignored d’Artagnan and all associated urges in favor of glowering at Aramis. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Athos’ signature deadpan was not affected at all by his hangover, though his friend was so used to his looks that they didn’t affect him at all. 

“Do you have no memory at all of last night?” Aramis questioned, starting to realize what Athos had known all along. Still, he intensified his glare in hopes of getting Aramis to shut up. The last thing he needed was for d’Artagnan to realize how pathetic he was. 

“Excuse us a moment,” Athos told the younger man before grabbing Aramis and dragging him to the side. “What did happened last night, and why is d’Artagnan standing there like he’s waiting for--” Something hit Athos harder than his hangover had in the morning. “No. Don’t tell me you told him--” Aramis waved a hand.

“Please, Athos, have some faith. We told him nothing. Just that you wanted to talk to him. What you do now is entirely up to you.” Aramis glanced around; d’Artagnan was being occupied with Porthos. The two were laughing. Upon realizing that he was being watched, d’Artagnan lit up and grinned at Athos. The musketeer hoped that his expression was dour enough to cover up the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

Really, butterflies. Athos felt like he was back in first grade. This was starting to get ridiculous. Then again, it was entirely possible that the feeling of slight nausea and woosiness was a side effect from his hangover. Yes, Athos was going to go with that. Much more pleasant. And excusable. Grown men could have hangovers; they couldn’t have crushes.

“You look at him like he’s the sun,” Aramis murmured. Athos snorted.

“Like he’s painfully bright and going to burn my eyes out? Really, that’s the metaphor you’re going with?” Athos responded immediately. Aramis held his hands up, conceding the point. Before he could argue, though, Athos continued. “I appreciate what you and Porthos think you’re doing, but you need to stop. I am not going to ask d’Artagnan out nor am I going to tell him that I’m interested. He’s young and positive and quite honestly deserves better than a grumpy drunk like myself. Do you understand?” 

Aramis looked at Athos with an expression he couldn’t understand through his beating head and pounding heart. “There’s less than a week left, Athos.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He let out a sigh and narrowed his eyes. “Let it go, Aramis. You aren’t going to make me do anything I don’t want to already.” There was a moment of silence as Aramis weighed his chances. In the end, though, he conceded with a sigh.

“I will just say what I have been saying: this is a chance for happiness and you will be a fool not to take it.” Aramis didn’t give Athos a chance to reply as he walked back over to Porthos and d’Artagnan. He said something to them, too soft for Athos to catch, and d’Artagnan laughed again. There was a stab of what could only be jealousy in Athos’ chest and he shook his head.

D’Artagnan might have been charming, attractive, and act like an excited puppy, but that was exactly why Athos was determined not to ask him on a date. No doubt d’Artagnan would feel pressured into accepting or, even worse, feel pity for Athos and agree because of that. Regardless, the younger man was full of hope and he had an entire future ahead of himself. Athos wasn’t going to ruin that.

“You there, what are you doing back here?” Treville marched into the garrison and raised an eyebrow at d’Artagnan, who suddenly became interested in his boots. “I thought I made it clear that you can’t be here, or was getting hit the first time not enough of a warning?” Athos and the other musketeers exchanged looks. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” D’Artagnan did not look like he was going to say much of anything.

It was Athos who decided to speak up for him. “Sorry, sir, Aramis thought it would be funny to summon him. If I may, why is d’Artagnan banned from the garrison?” Treville stared at him like he had grown a second head.

“Did you really not hear? This young man was sneaking around the first day of the festival and surprised one of the musketeers. It’s a miracle his head is still on his shoulders.” D’Artagnan looked rather sheepish at Treville’s story, but Athos could imagine the situation perfectly.

Of course, so could Porthos and Aramis; the two musketeers broke into laughter. D’Artagnan scowled, not amused but also not quite brave enough to say anything with the captain right there.

“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” d’Artagnan apologized instead. Treville snorted; if d’Artagnan was spending any amount of time with the three musketeers, following the rules was most likely not his strong suit. 

“Just try not to get beheaded on my watch.” Treville examined Athos’ expression for a moment before turning to leave. “And you three, don’t get him into too much trouble. Richelieu already has enough reasons to hate the musketeers, let’s not add anymore to that list.” The captain disappeared up to his office, allowing Athos to crack a smile at d’Artagnan.

“Sneaking around the garrison then?” He questioned. D’Artagnan scowled. 

“I got a bit lost, all right? This place is bloody confusing.” That, at least, was a completely valid point. “And I wasn’t even that badly injured. It was just a concussion, nothing serious.” Of course d’Artagnan would say that. Athos just shook his head and let Aramis take over the conversation; the biology teacher, specializing in human anatomy, was much better equipped to yell at someone for not taking care of themselves. 

At least now the conversation was far away from Athos’ feelings for d’Artagnan. The musketeer most certainly wasn’t focused on the way d’Artagnan stubbornly insisted that he had been fine, the way his lips curved down into a frown right as his eyes darkened, making Athos wonder what cruel god would let d’Artagnan look so enchanting while pouting like that.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Athos interrupted, raising an eyebrow at d’Artagnan. “I have no idea what these two were trying to do, calling you here, but I can assure you that I have nothing to say to you.” D’Artagnan looked rather flabbergasted at the sudden addition to the conversation, but he nodded and turned to leave. Immediately, Athos managed to feel like he had just kicked a puppy.

God damned brown eyes with that fucking perfect hair, he thought with more than a sliver of bitterness at how easily he had crumbled to a few good features and a smile. “D’Artagnan,” Athos called, the young man stopping and glancing back. 

The musketeer licked his lips. Suddenly no words were coming to mind. “Ah, just…. don’t…” Out of the corner of his eyes, Athos saw Porthos and Aramis exchange grins. He made a mental note to absolutely demolish them in duels later. “Enjoy the last week,” Athos finished as he mentally kicked himself. Repeatedly. “Nothing quite like working at the festival.” 

D’Artagnan, thankfully, just smiled as if he were oblivious to how tongue-tied Athos was. “Thank you. Try not to get into any more fights.” He left the garrison without another word. As soon as he was gone, Athos let out a groan.

Porthos patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. There’s always next year.” Athos flipped him off.

\----------

Constance listened with all the patience of a saint as d’Artagnan bemoaned the state of his dating life. If he were to be believe, he simultaneously was being strung along while also remained uncertain of whether a certain musketeer felt the same way, all while being unsure of whether or not his own feelings amounted to actual romantic emotions or just wanting to have a quick shag with an attractive, older man. Really, d’Artagnan could rival some of the gossips down at the jewelry booth. 

Also it was quite obvious that d’Artagnan wanted something more akin to cuddling and movie dates than anything else, but he seemed in denial of his feelings. Constance didn’t bother trying to point that out, though. Well, not in so many words.

“Why can’t he just tell me how he feels? One moment we’re laughing over coffee and the next it’s as if he doesn’t even want to see me!” D’Artagnan let out an exasperated noise and hit his head against the wall.

“Oh stop being so dramatic,” Constance replied, swatting him on the back. “You like him, d’Artagnan! Is it really so difficult to ask for his mobile number?” She asked, shaking her head. “Really, the way you act… I didn’t realize we were back in primary school.” 

D’Artagnan sighed and adjusted his doublet. The heavy leather made him itch both literally and figuratively for a shower, but Constance had given it to him as part of his uniform and apparently it made him ruggedly attractive. Whether Athos agreed was a much different story, but d’Artagnan supposed he needed as much going for him as he could. A bit of leather couldn’t hurt.

“It’s easy for you, Constance. You’re married,” he pointed out needlessly. 

“Yes, happily so. But I still remember how this works. D’Artagnan, will you look at me?” She paused while he turned around, meeting her eyes with a confused expression on his face. “How long have we known each other?” It took a moment for him to reply.

“About ten months?” D’Artagnan replied, not entirely sure. Constance nodded.

“And what have you told me your dream person is like?” She asked. There was no reply. “Let me see, intelligent in a bookish sense, fun, good sense of humor but also incredibly sarcastic and witty… Any of this sounding familiar?” Constance prompted. D’Artagnan managed a scowl as he crossed his arms.

“Just because Athos may or may not fit that description does not mean he is the perfect person for me.” There was a low chuckle from the left side of the booth and d’Artagnan felt his heart leap into his throat. 

Instead of Athos, though, it was Aramis who appeared. He had a shit-eating grin on his face that seemed right at home. “If it helps at all, lad, he has his eyes on you as well.” D’Artagnan groaned and buried his head in his hands. Aramis, the understanding and sensitive soul, let out a loud laugh.

“This is horrible,” d’Artagnan moaned, words muffled through his fingers. Aramis stepped forward and patted him on the back, raising an eyebrow at Constance. She just shrugged and rolled her eyes before mouthing the words ‘drama queen,’ much to Aramis’ amusement.

“They’ll get along perfectly,” he replied. D’Artagnan looked up and scowled at Aramis. “Don’t look at me like that, d’Artagnan. Eventually one of you will ask the other out and all this nonsense will be over.” That was assuming an awful lot, in d’Artagnan’s opinion, but he knew that he did not want to go down that particular road. 

“What makes you so confident that he feels the same way?” Not that this was any better, but at least rejection and sugar-coating was something d’Artagnan was perfectly familiar with. “And if you say something like ‘I just know’ then I reserve the right to throw you out of this stall myself.” Aramis laughed.

“D’Artagnan, Athos has not looked at someone the way he looks at you since his girlfriend hit his brother with a car.” Aramis made a mental note to find a better way to phrase that; the way d’Artagnan looked at him, he might as well have informed the young man that Athos’ significant others regularly committed murder. “My point is,” Aramis continued before d’Artagnan could ask any questions, “that he has strong feelings for you. But Athos is also horrible at expressing himself and he’s convinced himself that, regardless of how you might feel, it would be best if he said nothing.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” d’Artagnan replied immediately. Aramis shrugged. “Really, why can he think that’s a good thing? I do… like… him…” He let out another groan and returned his head to its place in his hands. “This is horrible,” he repeated. “Constance, what am I supposed to do?”

“How about you listen to Aramis and take action yourself? For once he’s making a good point. This doesn’t happen often, you should take advantage of it.” Constance pursed her lips, hands on her hips. “Really, d’Artagnan. You are making this so much more trouble than it needs to be.” 

Aramis nodded. “Athos will not ask you out if the world depends on it; he has made up his mind and he is the stubbornest person I have had the honor to meet. The only time he talks about his feelings is when he’s drunk and I know clams that are more prone to being opened up.” D’Artagnan looked through his fingers to glare at him. 

“Are you trying to get me to ask your friend out or to run in the other direction?” He questioned. In all honesty, it was a fair question. Aramis knew better than anyone, save Porthos or perhaps Treville, just how difficult Athos could be. The man wasn’t even guaranteed to be ready for a relationship; despite the fact that it had been five years since the disaster that was him dating Anne, he still hated speaking about her and refused to even talk about his brother’s death.

Hell, Aramis was certain that he had stopped talking to his parents, though that may have been because they blamed him for dating an actual sociopath in the first place. Needless to say, no one could claim that Athos’ was well-adjusted to the single life.

But he was a good man, Aramis knew, with plenty of good if only one could get past all the walls and barriers that Athos put up. And he told d’Artagnan as much. “You will find no one more loyal and more courageous. He is… he is scared, yes, very much so. And he will never admit that. But the fact that he’s scared means that he cares and for a very long time Porthos and I thought he would never do that again for anyone new.” 

D’Artagnan remained silent. Aramis gave him a few minutes to think about it; when the lad still said nothing, the musketeer shook his head and adjusted his hat. “It was good seeing you, Constance. Perhaps you could talk some sense into this young man, but I have to get going. They’ll be suspicious if I’m gone for much longer.” Aramis glanced at d’Artagnan, who seemed either deep in thought or internally screaming. 

“Thank you,” Constance muttered, following Aramis outside of the little booth. “He’s a good person, just… young. Nervous. And that was before he knew all of Athos’... baggage.” That was putting it mildly, but Aramis couldn’t really argue with the truth. At least, not with Constance. 

“If they would just get their heads out of their arses…” He trailed off and looked at Constance like she had just discovered electricity. She raised an eyebrow. “I have an idea. Do you know of the cafe ‘A La Gauche?’ Perhaps our two lovebirds could meet there…” Aramis whispered the rest of his plan and exchanged numbers with Constance.

She nodded. “If this doesn’t work, we could always lock them in a room together, and not let them out until they talk,” she suggested. Aramis couldn’t help but think that it might come to that.

\------------

Athos thought that this was a rather pathetic last-ditch attempt by Aramis to get him to talk about his feelings, but since his coworker promised that this was really his last effort… well, Athos decided there were worse places to have a conversation about his emotional instability and the fact that his ability to have an actual romantic relationship had more or less disappeared.

At least, that was what Athos thought he would be talking about. As soon as the waiter led him over to a table with an unfortunately familiar face, Athos knew that he had been set up. From the look on d’Artagnan’s face, so had he. 

The younger man blushed deeply and started stammering about how he could leave and how he had no idea what Constance had been planning. D’Artagnan stood up and Athos waved at him to sit back down. Confused, he did so and begun to fiddle with his napkin. There was an open menu in front of him and Athos cursed the traffic for causing him to be late to what was appearing to be a date.

“Aramis and Constance are never going to let us have peace if we do not go along with their scheme. I suggest you and I order and proceed as we would if we were having lunch with anyone else.” Athos realized his slip-up as soon as the words left his mouth, but d’Artagnan said nothing. He just nodded and sighed, flipping through the menu and doing his level best not to look at the man sitting across from him.

Athos held back the heavy sigh that threatened to slip out, instead choosing to order a glass of wine. He felt like he was going to need it to get through this meal. 

“Do you hate me?” Well, that was certainly not what Athos expected. He looked at d’Artagnan, a single eyebrow raised, and the young man bit his lip. “I just… We had coffee and I thought it went well, but then you started doing your best to avoid me, so I just thought… Well…” And, looking back on it, Athos could completely understand how d’Artagnan thought that.

Still, Athos didn’t think he was that bad when it came to expressing his emotions. “I do not hate you, d’Artagnan.” The musketeer-slash-professor tried focusing on his menu, but everything was swirling together and the third time he glanced over the paper to see if d’Artagnan was frowning in concentration Athos gave up. Setting his menu down, he entwined his fingers and waited for d’Artagnan to notice he was being watched.

It didn’t take him long, though that was definitely the strongest blush that Athos had seen grace d’Artagnan’s features. “Yes? Can I help you?” The young man asked, sounding almost bitter but mostly just nervous. 

“I don’t hate you.” D’Artagnan nodded.

“Yes, I think we covered that. Anything else you would like me to know?” He was being a sarcastic little shit and it only made Athos want to grab him and kiss him even more. God, this is hopeless and I’m pathetic, he couldn’t help but think.

At least he didn’t say it aloud. That was a good bar to set. A low one, but still. No one could ever accuse Athos of not having standards. 

“I… God, I have not drunk enough for this.” Athos resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill Aramis tomorrow.” D’Artagnan snorted and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. It was hard to say whether Athos preferred his hair falling down against his neck or up away from his gleaming eyes, but either way he most certainly wanted to run his fingers through those dark brown locks and see how soft they were. 

“I hope I’m not that bad of company,” d’Artagnan responded. Athos mentally groaned and gulped down what remained of his wine. 

“D’Artagnan, you’re young and full of life. You… don’t you have other friends more your age?” It came out horribly, but Athos really didn’t know any better way to phrase what he was trying to say. At least d’Artagnan didn’t punch him or something similar. 

“Yes, Athos, believe it or not I do indeed have other people I spend time with while I’m not meeting attractive older men on dates.” D’Artagnan coughed, realizing what he said. “That is-- I don’t actually know if you consider-- not to say that it would be a bad thing-- by that I mean--” Athos raised a hand and d’Artagnan fell silent.

“Is this a date?” Athos asked. D’Artagnan didn’t reply, so Athos repeated himself. Really, it should not have come as a surprise that d’Artagnan avoided the question entirely and instead latched onto their waiter.

The poor man was confused as he scribbled down d’Artagnan’s order; the object of Athos’ affections was so nervous that he kept stuttering and almost completed his request, only to realize that he had been ordering the wrong meal entirely. It was both entirely infuriating and absolutely charming. Athos wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle d’Artagnan or pull him into a hug and reassure him that everything was fine.

That tended to be the two reactions he had to anything d’Artagnan did. Or something of a more mature nature, but Athos was firmly determined not to go down that road anytime soon. 

At least Athos was able to keep his cool enough to order, only being caught off guard when the waiter asked if he wanted soup or salad. Soon, though, the two men were left alone with no hope of external rescue coming.

“Why are you going to grad school and not law school?” Athos suddenly asked. D’Artagnan hesitated, confused if he was understanding correctly. “You said you’re going to Union College and you want to study law. Not only does Union not have a pre-law program, but you also could go straight to law school. Couldn’t you?” 

D’Artagnan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Athos was about to take his question back when he got an answer anyway. “When I graduated high school, my father died so I wasn’t able to go to a good university… and I had a lot of trouble finishing… I got my degree,” d’Artagnan added quickly, “but my grades were less than good. So hopefully getting something better this time around will help.” 

Athos nodded. He hadn’t lost his family the way d’Artagnan had, but he knew several of his students were in similar situations. “I’m sure you’ll do well. You’re an intelligent young man.” 

The two fell back into silence. It was less awkward, though Athos wondered if it would be rude for him to take out his phone and send angry texts to Aramis. D’Artagnan didn’t sneak off to the bathroom to escape, though, so Athos considered that a victory. 

“Yes,” the young man declared, answering a question Athos didn’t realized he had asked. “I mean, yes. I think this is a date. If you would like,” d’Artagnan clarified. Athos blinked once and thought about it. 

He allowed himself a small smile. “Then let me start over.” He coughed and extended a hand over the table. “Hello, d’Artagnan. It’s a pleasure to see you here.” 

The smile he got was absolutely blinding and Athos understood what Aramis meant when he said that he looked at d’Artagnan like the young man was the sun. “Likewise.” 

\----------

Athos didn’t kill Aramis, but he did absolutely thrash him in Words with Friends. Close enough. It helped that Athos’ new boyfriend was a master with words. Really, d’Artagnan could change his major to English. Sometimes it seemed that everything he said was poetry.

Porthos claimed that was just Athos being in love. Athos flipped him off. D’Artagnan laughed his sunshine laugh and kissed Athos on the cheek.

And for the first time in five years, Athos allowed himself to be happy.


End file.
